


Last Night

by Sab



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: (Uploaded by Punk), Crossover Pairings, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-03-24
Updated: 1998-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sab/pseuds/Sab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set on the last night of Dukat's tenure as commander of Terok Nor. (Uploaded by Punk, from alt.startrek.creative.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Night

It had been like this for hours; tens of thousands of micrometeoroids clattering against the alloy bulkheads of the station in unrelenting counterpoint, the space surrounding Terok Nor streaked with hurling, whirling bits of stone, crashing in waves against the hull. The magnetic fields of the meteor fragments lit up in a shock of blue when they passed one another, shuddering alive like round lightning against the familiar starscape, and the hollows in the fragments sang out as they hurtled through space, echoing like thunder. As they played, vibratto, against Terok Nor, the patter of the bits of stone sounded like nothing so much as a thunderstorm cracking open the heat of a Cardassian summer. Since it wasn't my problem, I was able to find it quite beautiful.

Peering out one of the elliptical windows on the second floor of the promenade, I managed a smile at the irony. "It was a dark and stormy night," I said aloud in my best Terran Standard, remembering the Federation jargon they'd had us brush up on in preparation for the peace treaty. "How very fitting, for my last day aboard this station." Shaking my head at the private joke, I turned from the window and started down the stairs toward the Ferengi's bar.

It was as dark in Quark's as anyplace else on the station; I could care less that the electronics network was down and I'd ordered my men not to lift a finger. The Bajoran crew didn't know enough about our computer systems to get it back online, so I was fairly confident that we'd be stumbling around in the blue glow of the emergency lanterns for quite some time. But life support was operational, the climate warm enough, and Quark had a large enough supply of unreplicated Kanaar to get me through tonight and into tomorrow, when the transport ship could collect me and my fellow Cardassians and take us home.

Home. Cardassia. I wasn't sure when I'd started to consider Terok Nor my home, but for the last ten years it absolutely had been. Tomorrow I would have to let go, and return to the planet of my birth; the Central Command had given me no alternative. But tonight, in the dark of this storm, I could drink in the familiar surroundings, the smells of charred ore from the processing halls mingling with the sweat-and-alcohol of Quark's. I sat at my usual table; even in the dark the room looked the same, graceful arching doorways, the curve of the bar dripping toward the entrance onto the busy promenade. The bar was filled with my officers, relaxing, waiting, enjoying the simplicity of the dark. It looked like any other off-hour in Quarks, but today _they_ were here. I could smell them, I could hear the clack of their boots as they busied themselves with attempts to repair the power outage. Bajorans.

There couldn't be more than a dozen of them, arrived yesterday from Bajor to take their places aboard Terok Nor until the Federation arrived. The second wave of transport ships was to come today, but the storm--combined with the fact that the Bajorans weren't proficient with our systems--suggested that navigating and docking at this station would have to wait. So my crew was packing up, purging the computers, destroying whatever technology we could get our hands on and then kicking back and waiting for evacuation.

Quark brought me my drink without asking and I sipped it, sighing. My communicator chirped.

"Kira to Dukat," came the nasal Bajoran voice of the Major I'd met yesterday, presumably settled comfortably into my office by now. This was the wickedest irony yet--out of all the ranking officers in the Bajoran militia, they had to send a _Kira_ to replace me. Exhaling more loudly than was probably necessary, I replied.

"Yes, Major?"

"We've got a problem up here, and none of my techs have a clue about your impossible technology. I need you to tell me how to get the computers operational, now!"

I could picture her, pacing the office in that ridiculous uniform, shoulder-padded in some futile effort to make her look imposing, instead succeeding in emphasizing her slightness. She had the same crackling, textured voice, and I was sure that her eyes were shooting daggers. The same eyes. Her mother's eyes.

I took a breath. "I'm sorry, Major, but I'm afraid I'm off-duty. I suppose we'll just have to sit here in the dark until one of your engineers figures it out." Part of me was tempted to go up to the operations center and help her, or at least torment her some more, but I knew that if I was face to face with her it would all come flooding back; I'd see her mother in her eyes and I'd play the same stupid game I'd played all those years ago. Now was not the time to go soft, not the time for a weakness for the people who were taking my home from me.

"Well, it _is_ your problem, Dukat. There's a Federation ship out there trying to navigate the storm on a transport mission returning from Bajor. Those meteor fragments are ripping up his hull, and he's in danger of a core breach. I can't bring him in, and he can't make it through this storm under his own steam. I need a transporter, or else that ship is going to be pulverized, killing everyone aboard." She was hissing, frustrated, furious. I smiled despite myself.

//Okay. I'll talk her through it. Alienating the Federation will only get me in more trouble with Central Command then I'm interested in. But I won't go up there.// "Very well," I said. "Here's what you have to do. Call up the secondary --"

"Don't tell _me_!" she cut me off. "I'm not a technician."

"Major," I lowered my voice, refused to play to her unbridled rage. "If you want to save that Federation vessel, I suggest you listen to me. Now. Go to the engineering station in Ops."

"Where is it?" she sighed, defeated. I told her.

"Now, call up the secondary power grid; it's code six-alpha on the right hand panel."

"I've got it. It says it's offline."

"Of _course_ it's offline," I shook my head though I knew she couldn't see me. //Not tremendously bright, is she?// "Bypass the object-interface and get to the main file manager." I took a long drink of Kanaar, practically able to hear her squirm.

"What now, Dukat?" she demanded.

"Do you see the entry for the transporter? There should be an initiation code next to it for manual engage. The transporter generator itself wasn't harmed by the metoroids; you should be able to engage it without using the main computer at all."

After a long pause, she spoke. "He's here!" she said, triumphantly.

" _Who's_ here, Major?"

"The Starfleet commander. He's on the bridge." I could hear the sound of her footsteps as she crossed the room, introduced herself.

"Very good, Kira!" I said with a grin, enjoying the taste of her name as it rolled off my tongue. //Haven't said that in a long, long time...//

"I'm going to send him to the Promenade," she said. "Oh, and Dukat?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks." She said it reluctantly, but I knew I'd won. She couldn't hate me, not completely, not now. Was that what I wanted from her? Was that _all_ I wanted from her? Not willing to pursue that line of thought, I downed the rest of my Kanaar and waved to Quark in the dark for a refill.

I had read her profile; after the death of her mother she lost two brothers, one to the resistance and one--a collaborator--in an unfortunate protest incident. She herself had joined the Shakaar cel at twelve, and had been instrumental in the destruction of our camp at Gallitep, as well as the bombing on the Dalin Gatho transport facility. After the withdrawal she joined the civil service for several months, doing police work, until she was promoted by the provisional government to the rank of Major in the militia.

It was funny; it had gotten more and more difficult to remember what her mother looked like, but when I saw this young Kira it was like I'd been thrown back in time. The same round, brown eyes, sharp cheekbones, angry set jaw. And--I wasn't sure why this was so important, but it was, somehow--the same hands. Small, knobby fingers, the soft palms that Bajorans and Terrans share. I could remember every inch of Kira's hands--the elder Kira--and the feel of their warmth in my own cold ones. I had no doubt that this Kira--Nerys, her name was--had the same skilled fingers, the same strong grip and gentle touch.

"No!" I said aloud, swallowing the sound abruptly so that it came out more like a choke. Several officers eyed me suspiciously, but I smiled and waved them away. //I will not do it. I am Gul Dukat, former prefect of Bajor, future military advisor to the Detapa Council. I have a career and a family. I will not succumb to the wiles of this resistance brat, simply because she's the daughter of a woman I once knew.// But it was hard, and getting harder as the night wore on. I was lonely, I knew it, and this would be the longest night of my life. My last night.

***

He stood out like a Klingon among Bolians; red-clad and slightly disheveled, the tattooed human entered the bar. I knew my night vision was better than his, and I counted the pips on his collar before calling out, "Commander!"

He stopped in his tracks, looking for the source of the voice. "Over here," I called, leaning back in my chair and waiting. He stumbled, slowly in my direction.

"Please," I said. "Sit down. I apologize for your difficulty in the storm; were you able to salvage the ship?"

He sat, casting me a look that was almost accusatory. //Make peace, Dukat,// I told myself firmly. //Starfleet is going to be your neighbor. If you ever want to be welcome on Terok Nor again...if you ever want to see Kira again, you make peace with this man.//

"No," he said. "The ship blew up moments after I beamed aboard Deep Space Nine."

"Deep Space Nine?" I assumed my best puzzled voice. "Ah, yes, the Federation designation for this outpost. Well, as long as I'm here this station is Terok Nor. I am, however, sorry about your ship."

"Thanks," he said, not even attempting to sound genuine. Apparently remembering his role as a Starfleet representative, he extended a hand. "Commander Chakotay," he said. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"And I yours," I said, returning the handshake. "I am Gul Dukat, former commander of this station." It still hurt to admit it.

Maybe it was the light that night, or the Kanaar; I never understood, later, what it was that made me change my mind about the man but when I looked up at the hand I was shaking, it was hers. Kira's. And the eyes, a deep, smoky brown, were hers too. For a moment I could see her in him, and then it passed, and he was a bulky, tattooed, not-especially-attractive human male again. But I had seen it. And it was my last night.

"Chakotay," I said, more nervous than I'd admit. "our people have signed a document of peace. I can't tell you how happy it makes me" -- I nearly choked on the outright lie -- "that your people and mine will be working together in the coming decades. In that spirit, would you allow me to buy you a drink?"

"Uh, sure," he looked puzzled, staring at me with a cocked head. "How about a gin and tonic?"

"Jenatanik?" I repeated. "Did that translate?"

Apparently it hadn't, and he tried again. This time the translator offered me "clear alcohol suspended in a clear, fizzy fluid." Nodding, I rose to approach the bar.

"Jenatanik," I told Quark, more out of curiosity than anything else. "And a Kanaar."

"Got it," he said, fumbling under the bar. "I've stocked up on Federation beverages--unreplicated--in honor of this station's new landlords. This is a cloying little concoction made from two Terran liquids. Who's your friend?"

"Oh, just a passing Starfleet Commander," I smiled. "In the interest of peace, I thought I'd buy him a drink."

"That's very sporting of you," said Quark with a wink. "I had no idea you were so supportive of the treaty."

"I'm a man of mystery," I winked back, and, taking the two drinks, returned to the table.

I was nervous again, sitting down, unsure of everything about this seduction save the fact that I'd regret it in the morning. But here it was; my chance to prove my friendship to the Federation, and to get her out of my mind for the night. And as Terrans went, he wasn't unattractive; the tattoo across his forehead fascinated me, reminded me of the brow ridges on newborn Cardassian children. I was tempted to reach out and touch it, see if it had texture against the smoothness of his skin, but I resisted the urge.

"I need to tell you something, Gul Dukat," Chakotay said. "I don't like this treaty, and I don't approve of the exchange of property it demands. I've been fighting Cardassians for most of my life, and I'm not ready to hand over my home to them. You. I just thought you should know."

"Your home?" I asked, leaning a little closer across the table.

"Dorvan Five. It was ceded to the Cardassians as part of the accords. I've been ferrying Bajoran refugees home for the past week, but many of the Humans on that world are hesitant to leave the homes they've spent the last several centuries building."

"A man after my own heart!" I chuckled, pleased. "I know _precisely_ how you feel. This station is _my_ home; Bajor is my home. You can imagine how it must have felt to us, being torn so abruptly from a world we've worked for decades shaping."

"It's not the same," Chakotay argued. "You were dominating another race. On Dorvan Five, we weren't harming anyone."

I cut him off with a raised hand. "Please," I said. "Let's leave politics behind, for tonight. Suffice it to say that the treaty is flawed. But tonight," I lay my hand on the table where his was resting, touched a finger with mine, "let's make peace."

He was trembling, I could see it. He hated me, oh how he hated me, but there was something else, some desire to put the fighting behind him for this single, solitary night. He lifted his hand and set it on top of mine, stroked my wrist. //That's better,// I thought. //Now we're getting somewhere.//

"Did the Bajorans assign quarters to you?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "In the habitat ring, section G."

"The storm looks beautiful from up there," I said slowly. "The magnetic glow from the meteoroids is absolutely unbelievable. Shall we go have a look?"

He stared into the bottom of his jenatanik for a long moment before answering. "Why not?" he said, finally, draining the glass. Tipping the last of my Kanaar into my mouth and feeling the buzz of inebriation surge through my body, I took his hand, and we headed for the turbolift.

***

I sat beside him on the long sofa, staring out the window at the crashing, flashing meteor bits. He was afraid to meet my gaze when I looked at him, but his face had softened, and once again I could see Kira in his eyes. My head was whirling from the Kanaar and images of the last thirty years played out in my mind like a holovid. The lakes of Bajor's southern continent, Dakhur province, in the summer. My heart ached; I was leaving, Bajor was no longer my home, this station was not mine. I recalled the stone spires of Singha where I'd first seen Kira, sweaty and soot-blackened from work in the mines. For the first time in years, decades, I felt the foreign presence of tears sting my eyes and I bit them back, furious at my own weak will. Chakotay touched my shoulder.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"No," I said, forcing a smile. He wasn't Bajoran, but he wasn't Cardassian either. He would do. He met my gaze at last and I could see the hunger in his eyes, the desire, the anguish built up from years of hatred longing for release in a night of carnality. Desperately needing the feel of a smooth-skinned humanoid body, I slid an hand up over his shoulder and unclasped the top of his uniform, unzipping it and letting it peel away.

Bare-chested and soldier-muscled he stared at me, shivering. "Let's put the past aside," he whispered. "Please. It won't mean anything, but I need this. I've been ordered not to fight you anymore, but I need to...conquer you."

//Yes!// I thought. //Take me away from all this!// "Please," I said. "Please, Commander. Conquer me."

With near-Cardassian grace he unbuckled my armor and let it clatter to the floor. Tracing his fingers across the wide, flat ridges of my breastbone he pushed me back onto the couch and kissed me hard, his bumpy human tongue tasting mine.

I forced my hands into his trousers and tore them free from his hips, slipping his feet free and allowing myself to fall into the power of his naked frame. His erection pressed against my pelvis sending waves of heat to my groin. I grabbed the back of his head in the palm of my hand and pulled his face toward mine, pressed my mouth to his in that style of passion play Bajorans and Terrans so enjoy. Burrowing my nose into the space of his clavicle, I bit down on the thin layer of skin that encased the narrow bone. Drops of blood rose to the surface and I tasted their salt, as he moaned softly, gripping the thickly scaled ridges of my lower back.

//I could kill him right now,// I thought, feeling the shape of his delicate spine and narrow ribs under my exploring hand. //I could smash his ribs; I could twist his neck.// The thought was so provocative that I shuddered with arousal and pulled him closer to me.

He pressed his erection into my thigh, urged me to roll over onto my chest. I was more than eager to comply. I bit down on the couch cushion and gripped the pillows with my fingernails as he slid down my trousers and entered me from behind, gripping the snaking trails of cartilage that traced my pubic bone and stroking the sensitive scales on the insides of my hips with his talented Kira-hands. Human hands. I stifled a moan, bit the pillow harder as my eyes rolled back into my skull and my body tensed.

He came with a tremendous flourish, called out in some foreign tongue that the translator couldn't quite make out. Unable to move, I lay with my face pressed into the cushion while he rose, cleaned himself and dressed.

"This never happened," he said, firmly, prying me from the pillow. I fastened my trousers and sat, barechested, staring at him.

"I was about to say the same thing," I said, finally. "Thank you, Commander, for a most enjoyable evening."

Rolling his eyes, he tossed me my armored breastplate, which I fastened on. I raked a finger through my hair and started toward the door when he stopped me.

"Dukat?" he said, almost innocently.

"Yes, Commander," I nodded.

"I still hate you. I despise you and your people and what you've done to me and mine."

"Understood," I said, fighting the smile that played at the corners of my lips. "Good night, Commander."

"Good night," he said, and I left the room.

The storm was petering out by the time I was ready to go to sleep, and I knew that the transport ship tomorrow would have no trouble docking and collecting me and my men. I lay awake for hours, staring at the familiar ceiling, the familiar curves of bulkead that made up the quarters I'd called home for the last ten years.

"I've made my peace for the time being," I said aloud, listening to the words reverberate and echo in the small room. "But as long as Kira's here, my relationship with Terok Nor is not over. I'll be back. Mark my words, Terok Nor," I smiled, addressing the station, "I'll be back."


End file.
